


So Your Son is a Spy...and Dating His Boss

by AnnaofAza



Series: Hartwin Week [4]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: A Weird Night for All, Confessions, Gen, M/M, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 06:24:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4614585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Why is your boss calling you?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Your Son is a Spy...and Dating His Boss

It’s nearly two am when Michelle Unwin hears a creaking at the door and the sound of footsteps. She yanks the mobile phone from her nightstand and dials the police, holding her finger over the call button as she gropes for the cricket bat stashed underneath her bed. Daisy’s door is closed, but not locked, and Michelle snatches up her robe and hurriedly ties it, opening her own door without a squeak.

Her heart pounding, Michelle wishes Eggsy were here—he knows how to fight; she’s seen him in the streets and at that day at the Black Prince—but he’s not. Her son’s hardly ever home these days, and when he is, they can only talk for so long. Eggsy mentions unfamiliar names, and only vaguely talks about his job as an apprentice at a tailor’s shop. It’s a boring job, he claims, but even his tone can’t disguise the sparkle in his eyes when he buttons his jacket and heads out the door.

Michelle steals down the hallway, pausing when she hears more footsteps. She raises her bat, tensing. Damned if she’s going to be a sitting duck.

A figure steps into view, and Michelle swings.

“Whoa!” A hand claps onto the bat, blocking it, and Michelle relaxes in recognition, but soon turns into fury.

“Where were you?” she demands.

Her son lets the bat go, wincing when she flips the switch and turns the lights on. “Working, Mum.”

“Past midnight?” What kind of tailor’s shop is open so late? What kind of any shop even still operating at these hours? “Eggsy, you missed Sunday dinner with me and Daisy!”

He winces, looking genuinely guilty. Shifting his weight to another foot, Michelle notices him grimace. “Mum, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t get away—I had…a commission—”

“A commission! What sort of customer—boss!—demands you stay after hours for a bloody suit? He must be a slave-driver!” Michelle continues relentlessly, dismissing a sudden buzzing noise. Probably an alarm from her phone or the like. “And look at you! I saw you when you walked in—don’t lie to me—you’re hurt! Who hit you, Eggsy?”

“Mum, it’s nothing—”

“I may haven’t protected you from Dean as well as I should have—and I’ll always be sorry about that—but there’s no way anyone is going to hurt you again—so tell me, Eggsy, who hurt you?” Michelle’s stomach twists. Was it one of Dean’s? She’d taken out a restraining order against Dean and his friends, and had encouraged Eggsy to do the same, but what if he didn’t, or they broke the contract?

Before her son can reply, the buzzing noise happens again, and Eggsy fishes his phone out of his pocket, wincing when he glances at the number.

“Don’t you dare answer that—”

“Eggsy!” a male voice scolds, sounding worried. His accent is nothing like what she grew up with—it’s posh, well-articulated, and clear. “This is the second time I’ve called you, and you need to tell me you’re safe.“

“I’m fine,” Eggsy insists, turning away from Michelle, pressing the phone close to his ear, but she can still hear every word. “You don’t have to worry—wait, is that an engine in the background? Harry!”

“Well, you didn’t call!” Frustrated, the voice continues, “I turned off the headlights, but I think one of your neighbors is thinking about calling the police—”

“Um…” Eggsy begins clicking the dials on the side, turning the volume down. “Harry, I’m fine. I just ran into Mum. I’ll be out in a moment.”

“Harry?” This is getting weirder and more frustrating by the minute. “Why is your boss calling you? Is he honestly out front our house?” She shakes her head. “Just bring him in—I don’t need complaints from the neighbors or the police swarming in—and the two of you better tell me what was so desperately needed this evening!”

“Uh, you got that, Harry?” Eggsy nervously chuckles, then listens for a while before hanging up the phone. “Should we put some tea on? We’ve both had a long day.”

Michelle blows her bangs out of her face in irritation. She notices her hand is still clenched around the handle of the bat. “If you want tea, you better make some. Honestly, Eggsy, couldn’t you have called ahead like a normal person?”

As Eggsy makes his escape, Michelle checks on Daisy—still asleep—and walks down to the kitchen, where the kettle is on the stove. Her son’s now opening the door, and in steps a tall gentleman with a full suit and glasses, the same kind Eggsy sometimes wears…

Michelle’s jaw then drops. “You!”

That man is standing behind Eggsy, looking nearly the same as he did years ago, except with an eyepatch over his right eye; combined with the eyeglasses, it looks downright odd. His hair is also slightly fraying at the temples, and the crow lines around his eyes look deeper than she recalls.

He’s also holding her son’s hand.

Perhaps she was right in taking the cricket bat with her.

* * *

“So…you’re some sort a spy.” Michelle shakes her head, as Eggsy awkwardly places three cups on the kitchen table. “Both of you?” She turns to Harry Hart. “And Lee?”

Harry nods solemnly. “He saved my life.”

“And you repaid him—repaid us—by bringing my son into this life of yours?” Michelle gasps. The tea is forgotten. “Was this necessary, or does this Kingsman recruit by hereditary or something as bloody ridiculous?” A horrible thought dawns on her. “How long has…this—” she gestures at their still-interlinked hands, “been going on? Did he…coerce you?”

Eggsy’s ears turn red, but he doesn’t let go of the older man’s hand. “It wasn’t like that at all!”

“The pub,” Michelle remembers, “one of Dean’s friends claimed your…performance was just like ‘that old geezer.’ And a while ago, the day you got sprung for the car chase, you were drinking with some other ‘geezer’ in the pub where they were!” Her mind races—the suit, the glasses, the way Eggsy had slicked his hair back. She points to Harry accusingly. “That was you!”

“It was,” Harry says mildly.

Eggsy jumps in: “But it isn’t like what you’re thinking. I used the medal he gave us and called. I didn’t know what was going to happen—I didn’t even know about Harry—and he sprung me. And after, at the pub—he was defending me from Dean’s thugs. Harry only offered for me to join Kingsman after we talked.” His tone now sounds pleading. “I didn’t know what to do, Mum—but I wanted to make something of myself, and by the time I got the job, I wasn’t supposed to tell—”

Michelle takes a sip of tea, trying to sort this out. The fear in her son’s eyes startles her. He’s afraid of losing her, she realizes.

“Eggsy…” What could she say? That she understands? That she’s okay with all of this? Both are untrue—her mind is racing like the last runner trying to at least cross the finish line—but Michelle takes a deep breath. “Don’t think I haven’t forgotten,” she says instead, tone gentle. “You’re hurt. What happened?”

“A mission” is all he replies. “I’m sorry, Mum, but it’s classified.”

She’s used to her son having secrets, but this new gap between them saddens her, especially when it isn’t something like growing pains or about Dean—it’s the thing her late husband had hid from her for years, something dangerous enough to kill him and having regulations about secret keeping. She could have helped Eggsy in the past with his friends or school or feelings, but this…this is beyond her.

And that scares her.

“When you had nightmares,” Michelle slowly asks, “they started after that odd riot.” Her fingers around the meat cleaver, her daughter’s screams, the pure rage that surged through her, the animalistic triumph when she stepped through the door… “Did you two have something to do with that?”

“We kinda saved the world,” Eggsy admits, with the same shy smile he used to her when bringing home gymnastics awards or honor roll announcements.

“You did,” Harry corrects, with a squeeze to Eggsy’s hand. Michelle tracks the movement. “I was presumed dead at that time.”

She’s suddenly furious all over again. “He told me a friend of his died! That was you?”

Harry has the grace to look embarrassed. “I was in a coma, and my health was severely deteriorating—the organization didn’t want the information to interfere with Eggsy’s missions—”

“Oh, I think he would have been reassured if he knew you were at least breathing!” Michelle remembers Eggsy’s soft sobs in the middle of the night, how pale and gaunt he was for months, the way one of his friends—Roxy—came over almost every day to check up on him. “You never saw him. He was…”  _No! No! Don’t, please, do it to me instead! I’ll do anything!_  “He was almost too young to understand when his father died, but what you did…”

She’d seen Eggsy resigned, but never defeated. He’d always fall and always get back up, knees scraped, but eyes looking forward.

Harry’s apparent death sent him to his knees, breaking his legs so he had to drag himself. Michelle couldn’t claim—still can't—that she fully understood then, but she saw a little of herself in her son. After Lee—she’s so ashamed to think about those times—Michelle had never been the same, becoming reckless and angry and desperate for anything to numb the pain.

“Ms. Unwin,” Harry says solemnly, “that’s another thing I deeply regret. But I promise you that I have and will continue to earn forgiveness from both you and your son.”

Michelle studies the man’s honest face, the way his eyes flicker to Eggsy’s and land on his face. Again, she sees a little of Lee when Eggsy looks back, trusting and fond.

“He’s old enough to be your father.” Michelle mutters slowly. “He’s  _older_ than your father.”

Harry winces. Clearly, this is a sore spot. “And I keep telling him that he shouldn’t waste his youth with me—”

“Oi, don’t start this again, I’d rather be with you when we both still can—”

Still can? This only intensifies Michelle’s worry of the dangers of working for this agency. How long is Eggsy supposed to be living in this life? She wishes she cherished more of what she had with Lee when she could…

At least, she reasons, Eggsy won’t have any secrets from Harry.

Michelle drops her head into her hands. One thing at a time. “I can’t…I don’t know if…how did this happen?”

“Mum,” Eggsy leans forward. “It’s kind of a long story…”


End file.
